Hunt me an aged sea turtle,
so I can fumble on its shell’s strata
the hidden history of the cosmos.
We came out of the caves,
when, for the misfortune of planet,
Dinosaurs extinct .. and we survived;
our deep fear of their return,
– that inherited for thousands of years as an “inner doctrine” –
invented later weapons of mass destruction.
Those, who are alone such as a trap,
the peak of their violence,
to feed a worm to a fish,
then eat it sorrowfully,
through the simplest and noblest food chain in the ecological balance.
Dinosaurs also deserve “Nobile” prize.
And those who did not satisfy, even the sky, a ceiling for them,
became cosmic larvae, called stars.
Trees like us,
bend to bury their shaggy branches in the ground,
shamefully make defeat bows that we pass through as children in a game
Trees like us,
become a breathing lung for others, sometimes,
and other times a fuel for a holocaust.
Fingernails that painted with the muddy colour,
forebode for a hysteria dance,
we all wear water shoes in it.
Our dry hearts with disappointment intensity,
stones that coated with a fluffy grass and dew
At the end of the night.
Good hearted people,
those who never bored of opening their hearts to others,
we always forget, or pretend to forget, to tell them,
that they, their hearts, are firewood hearths,
not playing balls.
And hearts .. Warm ones,
are common lands for camping,
not a real estate to own,
so let’s not leave our waste inside them, when leaving.
The bitter harvest of breathing,
a two punctured lungs perform an insomnia concert,
on the ageing of Nicotine
an exhalation after an exhalation, such as a runaway pant.
Fondling the wood fluff before going out of any door,
bags of thorns in a trembling hand.
The last escape through a water trench that was made by rain with wagon wheels.
The white darkness in a desert of ice,
another kind of blindness,
more astonishment, and colder.
The slow growth of stalagmites and calves in a cave mouth:
a loneliness that mysteriously preys a time flesh,
a cold ulceration in the stomach of a mountain.
Deers that make you wish to be a Panther.
Lakes as if they were eternal beds for the desire of drowning.
A Fruits, with their heads Attached to the branches’ blades
bleeds the ripen of the flavour.
The planted cranberries by the slaps on our cheeks since we were too young,
when we grew up,
its thorns sprouted beards.
Lonely between walls, counting the last thread of a dream that running away from you, a drop after a drop
a sand hour for your execution time
A small gap in a wall,
fire circle that herds of wild fancies jump through.
Your life is
a pond of ashes, slowly grow up under you,
as a burning coal.
The sun shone, again, never
swarms of crows females distinguish their chicks from a collective exhibition of corpses,
snatching the final farewell meat with their motherhood beak, body after a body,
chewing the last flavour, slowly,
the wrinkles subsidence around mouths have grown old by yelling on names,
will never be yelled after today,
except in the dump memory, and salt.
The hysterical howl in the ears of the last splintered girl,
was not for a flock of hydrophobic wolves,
but for a cat swallowed a shell.
Crowds of flies make a funeral for a thigh without a body.
a man and a woman stabbing the emptiness with a choked whine behind the rubble of a mosque
An elderly chant, who fizz the letters after he swallowing a sniper’s nozzle
Birds, wearing bulletproof feathers.
All the waters are mirrors,
for the warplane sprucing up, in the wedding of gunpowder and body.